


down, down, down

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Enthusiastic cunnilingus, Hypnotism, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Sex, lots of sexy sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is most definitely not conventional hypnotherapy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am aware that part way through the tense changes - I literally don't know how it happened, it just did xD 
> 
> Spawned from the imaginations of myself and another Hannigram shipper.
> 
> Even if this sort of thing was possible, this is highly unethical behaviour for a therapist and his client, hence the mildly dubious consent tag. 
> 
> Most definitely not beta read.

“Breathe in through your nose,” Hannibal instructed gently, gazing intently at Will as the younger man did as he was told. “Hold it as long as you can, please.” After a moment, he continued, “And breathe out through your mouth, making it last as long as you can.” Will did so, a long, slow, shaky exhale that had his shoulders slumping. “That's how I want you to breathe for the remainder of the exercise, please. Nice and long and slow, remaining as calm as you can.”

Will eyed him carefully as the two of them did little more than breathe in time with one another, slowly, until Will was beginning to feel a little bit of the tension draining from his shoulders. He was by no means comfortable, still uncomfortable with the situation and what Hannibal was intending to do with him – hypnosis, as far as Will Graham was concerned, was not something that would ever have an effect on him. 

“Keep breathing, nice and slow,” Hannibal murmured softly, making a show of continuing to breathe in time with Will. “When you're ready, I want you to lean back in your chair and get comfortable. Take your time, but when you feel like you can, just sit back and relax, remembering to breathe properly. Okay?”

Will said nothing, but continued to breathe smoothly and slowly, and after a few minutes he leaned back slowly into the chair, letting his head fall back against the cushions of the chair. He kept his eyes open resolutely, gazing absently at the ceiling as Hannibal breathed with him. He felt like this lungs could expand properly now, as he stretched out backwards. 

“You can keep your eyes open, if you want.” Will focussed on the massive chandelier on the ceiling, his gaze darting around the fixture as he tried to resist the urge to yawn. The slow breathing was having an effect on him, yes, but he still didn't think this would actually work on him. He'd probably just fall asleep and drool all over Hannibal's pristine cushions. “But if you want to close them that's fine too. Next time you breathe in, I want you to imagine that some of the tension in your body, some of your stress, gathering in your chest. I want you to picture it gathering as a big, black cloud in your lungs, feel the tension, the strain draining from your limbs and into your lungs.”

It happened gradually, and almost against his will, but a part of the tension knotted up in his back, and the tension in his limbs gathered in the middle of his chest, and his breathing hitched uncomfortably for a moment until Hannibal spoke again. “And breathe it out, breathe out the black cloud and find your body a little lighter, drained of a little bit of tension.” Will let out a smooth shaky breath, and was surprised when his body did feel a little looser, and he felt a little calmer. Hannibal talked him through it a few more times until Will blinked slowly and realised he was staring vacantly at a line of refracted light on the ceiling, where it spread just beyond the chandelier, his body feeling limper and more relaxed than it had in a long time. 

“Do you feel a little bit better now, Will?” Hannibal asked, and Will nodded absently. 

“Yes,” he mumbled, his eyes slipping closed briefly, only to open again and refocus on the miniature rainbow on the ceiling. 

“Good. Now, remember that you can close your eyes whenever you want, you just have to keep listening to my voice but you can shut your eyes if you want.”

Will shook his head resolutely, but slowly, his body limp and loose like it hadn't been in years. “I'm fine.” His voice sounded far away and soft. Dazed. 

“Take another deep breath in,” Hannibal instructed him. “And I want you to focus on how comfortable you are.” He really was, really very comfortable in the armchair, and his limbs were soft and relaxed, sprawled out as he was. “And the warmth of the room. Let that warmth seep into your muscles, like you're lying in the sun. How about you close your eyes and imagine that you are lying in the sun. Yes?” Will nodded, and when his eyes slipped shut slowly it was incredibly easy for him to imagine that the light hanging overhead was the sun, and the warmth from the fire made that fallacy much easier to believe. He was limp, relaxed and warm, but he wasn't particularly tired, which was what he had assumed Hannibal would have been aiming for. 

“So now you're lying in the sun with your eyes closed. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them.” Will nodded absently again, happy to keep them shut for the moment and let the sun soak into his skin. “Every time you take a new breath in, feel yourself relax a little more. Feel your body sink into your chair, and your muscles relax. Are you tired?”

Will shook his head, lazily. He was relaxed and comfortable, but he wasn't particularly tired just yet. 

“I think you are, Will. You're nice and relaxed, lying in the sun with your eyes closed. Wouldn't it just be so easy right now to go to sleep? To just drift off into a deep, peaceful sleep for me?” Will murmured something, not entirely sure what it was beyond a garbled little noise. “Are you tired?” Hannibal asked again. 

“Yes,” Will mumbled, and suddenly it was true. He was feeling it settle over him like a cloud, a tiredness that made his legs tremble where they were braced on the floor, and made his thoughts run slow. 

“Good. Every breath you take, nice, deep breaths, remember, will make you more tired, more relaxed. Do you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Don't go to sleep just yet. I need you to stay awake a little longer for me, okay?” Will nodded, and Hannibal smirked to himself. “You don't want to fall asleep in the sun, you'll get sunburned, won't you?” Another nod. “So what I want you to do now is to stand up.” Will's legs twitched slightly, but he made no move to stand physically. “Are you standing up?” A nod. “You're on the roof of a large, tall building, and you need to get back down to ground level, don't you?” Nod. “So head indoors, there's a door right in front of you. Head in doors and walk down the corridor, feeling yourself become more and more tired as you take each step. Still nice and warm and tired as you head towards the elevator.” Will hummed under his breath, and his fingers twitched slightly where they were splayed across his knees. “When the door opens, step into the lift, open your eyes and look up and tell me what floor you're on.”

“I don't know,” Will murmured. Hannibal stood and walked closer, noticing that his brows were pinched and he looked a little restless. His eyes remained shut and Hannibal clicked his tongue absently. 

“It's okay, don't worry if you can't see it. Just relax.” Will's brow smoothed out, and his fingers twitched again. “Take a deep breath and open your eyes for me, Will.” Doing as he was told, Will's eyes crept open, glazed and unfocussed. “You're on floor 30. Okay? Reach out and press the button for the ground floor, keep your eyes open just a little longer.” Will's fingers twitched again and his eyelids fluttered, desperate to close, and Hannibal grinned, moving closer to Will and leaning in close to speak right next to his ear. “And every time a new number flashes up on the display read it out, say it out loud to me so I know where you are. Okay?”

“Okay,” Will breathes, and he turns absently towards Hannibal's voice in his ear. 

“You need to focus on counting, and what I'm going to be telling you is important, but you don't have to think about it, okay? Just let it go straight into your brain, you don't have to consider it at all, just let it sink in nice and easy.” Hannibal ran his fingers incredibly lightly through Will's soft brown curls, pleased with the way he turned into his hand, his heavy eyelids fluttering under the strain of staying open.

“Twenty-nine,” Will murmured gently. 

“Every number that you read is counting down, counting down towards zero, counting you down towards zero. Do you want to know what happens when you get to zero?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“You'll notice you're getting more and more tired, sleepier and sleepier as you see the numbers, say them out loud.” Will's squirmed on the seat, moaning and twitching absently. “As you get closer and closer to zero, you're getting closer and closer to being allowed to close your eyes and go to sleep. You want that so much, don't you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You've got to stay awake for a little bit until you reach the ground floor, but once you get to the ground floor you can step outside and go to sleep, okay?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Nice and relaxed and getting more and more tired by the minute. Each passing minute makes you want to lie down and sleep for hours and hours, but you've just got to wait until I say you can go to sleep before you do.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Good, such a good boy,” Hannibal murmured, petting Will's hair soothingly, delighting in the way his eyes were glazed and unfocussed and he could barely keep them open. “You'll notice as well that the more tired you get, the easier it is for you to listen to what I'm saying.”

“Twenty-four.”

“I'm sure you're really, really tired now, Will. The closer you get to zero the more you want to sleep, the more desperate you are for me to let you sleep.” 

“Twenty-three.” Will says this with a pitiful whine, followed quickly by a yawn. Hannibal pauses in his speech and waits for Will to say the next number. “Twenty-two,” he murmurs eventually, slightly slower than the previous number, slightly more lethargic. He whines pathetically at the back of his throat, his eyes drifting shut for a brief moment before Hannibal tells him to open them again, which he does quickly, without hesitation. 

“Such a good boy, you're following instructions so well, so obedient.” A small crease formed between Will's eyebrows. “But you are, such an obedient boy, so good.”

“Twenty-two.” The crease is still there, but Will yawns and it vanishes a little. 

“Nice and sleepy and obedient, such a good feeling.” Will frowns again, and Hannibal strokes his hair soothingly. “If you weren't obedient, you wouldn't be allowed to sleep, Will. You're such an obedient boy, and if you keep being an obedient boy then you get to go to sleep, nice and peaceful.”

“Twenty-one.” Will's frown has vanished, and he burrows down into the pillow on the chair. 

“Good boy,” Hannibal croons. “Keep counting down, getting more and more relaxed, more and more obedient, more and more sleepy.”

“Twenty.” He continued to countdown towards zero, and Hannibal sat and listened to his voice becoming more dreamy and distant as he did so, his body almost melting into the arm chair, his eyelids fluttering wildly as he tried to keep looking up at Hannibal obediently. 

“Three,” Will murmured eventually, and Hannibal smirked to himself. Nearly there. His voice was thick and heavy with his exhaustion and as he tried to say the next number he stumbled over it, his brow pinching again in frustration. “T-two?”

Hannibal's fingers retreated from Will's hair, and he leaned in close to Will again and got right up close to his ear. 

“Just keep your eyes open a little longer, Will. You're so nearly there.” Will whines again, almost sobbing unhappily as he blinks blearily, unsteadily as he struggles to find the right word to say next. 

“One?” he whispered. 

Hannibal reached out and placed his hand over Will's face, effectively covering his eyes. “Zero. Go to sleep, Will. Nice, deep, obedient sleep.”

 

 

He was drifting in the dark, entirely comfortable and content, and for once entirely relaxed and at ease. Not tense or worried or nervous. It made a nice change. Will wanted to stretch but he was still so tired, so blissfully relaxed that he couldn't move more than a finger at a time, couldn't open his eyes no matter how much that lovely, soothing voice told him to try. It murmured in his ear almost constantly, and the more he listened the more he believed what it was telling him, the more he listened the more attached to it he became. He really just wanted to listen to it forever and lie comfortably in this place, wherever it was, but the voice told him, far too soon, that it was time for him to wake up. A small noise of discontent bubbled up in his throat, and whoever it was laughed. 

“It's okay,” the voice told him. “I'll give you a phrase that will bring you back here to relax for a little bit. Every time you hear it it will be more and more effective, and you will become more and more attached to this place, to the sense of relaxation and obedience that it gives you. Does that sound good?”

He tried his best to nod, but all he managed to do was raise his chin once, weakly, and drop it again. 

“Whenever I say to you 'take a seat and we can begin', you'll sit down and drop quickly into this state, won't you?” Will nodded again, more emphatically this time. “It's time to wake up then.” Will whined, a weak, pathetic sound emerging from the back of his throat as he shook his head weakly. “It's okay,” the voice told him. “You can wake up for a little bit and if you're a good boy, I'll let you come back here, okay? I'm going to count from one up to ten, and you'll come awake little by little, until you're awake, nice and refreshed, by the time we reach ten. You don't have to remember exactly what happened while you were down here if you don't want to, just remember how good it felt to be down here, and that you want to come back her whenever possible, and remember how to get back here. Okay?” 

 

 

Hannibal is close when Will awakens, sitting next to him on the wide, low sofa, watching him intently. He feels limp and relaxed and calm for once, his whole body void of the tension that had made him start to ache earlier in the day. His mind was blissfully calm for once, empty of the clamouring, frantic thoughts that he had grown used to. 

“How do you feel?” Hannibal asked him. 

He opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a contented moan, a purr almost, and he leaned back onto the soft cushions – when had he sat up? He can't remember clearly, but it doesn't matter, he doesn't have to remember exactly what happened. 

“Good. Feels better, yes?” Will nods in response, and Hannibal chuckles. “I knew you would. Stand up for me for a moment?”

It takes a monumental amount of effort, but eventually Will gets to his feet, swaying gently on the spot and stretching luxuriously. 

“Excellent. Now, take a seat and we can begin.”

Will frowned but did as he was asked. He had only just stood up, was this Hannibal's idea of therapy? Making him stand up and sit – oh. 

The moment he was seated on the sofa again his eyes slipped shut and Will all but melted back onto the cushions, the deep dark press of this new trance state reaching up to swallow him whole once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal likes to play with his food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read. Not even by me - I typed it out and haven't read it back yet. Whoops.
> 
> Also Will Graham is a precious sleepy puppy who can't keep his eyes open.

“Take a deep breath in, Will.”

He did so, and purred contentedly as Hannibal ran his fingers through his hair. 

“When I tell you to open your eyes, you're going to be in my office. You don't have to worry about what happens while you're there because you're sleeping.”

“Hmm, okay.”

“It's just a nice, relaxing dream, nothing to worry about.”

“Nice dream,” he mumbled under his breath, letting Hannibal help him sit up.

“Open your eyes whenever you're ready, Will.”

 

 

He wasn't awake – he was sure of it, because he was sitting on Hannibal's lap, straddling him, in his huge, well padded arm chair. Hannibal's hands were on his back, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his bare skin. 

“I'm dreaming,” he murmured softly. Hannibal chuckled, and shifted his legs beneath him, and Will fidgeted in his lap, settling down more comfortably on the psychiatrist's lap. 

“Are you now?” 

Will nodded absently and let his eyes slip shut. He was blessedly tired, beautifully relaxed, and Hannibal's hands now stroking soothingly at his back only served to enhance these feelings. 'Open your eyes and look at me, Will.' 

He opened his eyes and looked up at the doctor, his strange crimson eyes fixed on Will's face. 

“Yes. I must be sleeping, you would never let me get this close.”

'You want to touch.'

“I'm far more fond of you than you believe, Will.” 

Will laughed, and let his hands come up to rest on Hannibal's shoulders. “See, now I know that I have to be dreaming.” He pressed his fingers absently into the wrinkles of Hannibal's shirt, smoothing them out carefully. “Hannibal isn't fond of me, not really.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?”

'You don't believe that.'

“Sort of. Hannibal is my friend but that's it. He wouldn't let me get this close.” He leans in close and presses his forehead to Hannibal's, still stroking at his shoulders and chest. 

'You want to kiss him.'

Will hummed absently and leaned back a little, his eyes flickering down to Hannibal's pale lips briefly, and Will bit his own lip gently, wondering how this dream version of his friend would react were he to kiss him. Well, it was his dream, so maybe Hannibal would let him. 

“What do you think this dream represents, Will?”

“Even in my dreams you're trying to psychoanalyse me,” he mumbled, leaning forwards almost unconsciously as Hannibal settled back in the chair. Will fidgeted absently against the older man, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. “I don't know what it represents. I don't care. It's just a dream.”

'Kiss him.'

He paused for a moment and breathed deeply, his eyes still shut. “It's just a dream. I can kiss you if I want to,” he mused to himself. It was little more than a light brush of lips on lips, but it sent such a thrill through Will that he knew right then that he had to have more. “Just a dream,” he murmured against Hannibal's lips. What a nice dream. 

 

“Take a seat and we can begin.”

The sudden drop down into his deep, relaxing trance state almost no longer took him by surprise whenever he sat down in the chair Hannibal had designated as his in the office. He had started to associate it with feeling sleepy, and even when he just sat down without hearing his trigger phrase he could already hear himself slipping down. 

Hannibal hummed soothingly to him as Will melted into the chair. “Tell me when you reach the ground floor, Will.”

After a few minutes in silence Will let out a tired sigh and nodded. “I'm at the ground floor.”

“Good boy. Take a few more deep breaths and see if you can go any further down.” Another tired sigh. “Good. You're doing so well.” His lips twitched in a semblance of a satisfied smile, and Hannibal had to keep himself from chuckling. “I'm going to put some music on, Will, and we're going to listen to it. While you're listening I want you to tell me how the music makes you feel. Understand?”

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice suppressed by tiredness and relaxation.

“Good. Let's begin.”

 

 

“What exactly am I eating here?” Will asked as Hannibal lay a plate of food down in front of him. 

“Beef bourguignon with potatoes and freshly baked bread.” It smelled delicious, as usual, and Will spread his napkin over his lap as Hannibal took his seat on the other side of the table. 

“You must have spent hours on this,” Will said after his first mouthful of food. The beef was tender and packed with flavour, and the bread crunched satisfyingly beneath his hands as he pulled it open to spread some butter on it. “Why go to so much effort for a single meal?”

Hannibal smirked as he chewed his food thoroughly. “Food is a form of artistic expression, and as I have said before, I'm very particular about what I put in my body. As you should be as well. If it were up to me you would only eat the finest foods provided.”

Will flushed and looked down at his plate. “Thank you,” he mumbled eventually, around a mouthful of warm bread and butter. 

“Ah, I forgot to put some music on,” Hannibal said after a few minutes of silence. “If you'll excuse me.”

“Of course,” Will said, and Hannibal rose from the table towards the impressive sound system. 

“How about some Schubert?”

Will had a very limited knowledge of classical music, so he nodded and focussed on his dinner quickly as Hannibal selected a CD and set it to play. 

Hannibal himself watched very carefully for Will's reaction as the soft sound of woodwind instruments began to filter through the speakers and into the room. He thought back to the night before, when he had persuaded an entranced Will to shed his clothes and masturbate for a while, slowly and gently, until his muscles were trembling with the effort of keeping this rhythm, all set to the sounds of symphonies and sonatas. Just like the night before that. And the one before that. 

Will's face flushed quickly as the music grew a little louder, keeping his face turned resolutely downwards at his dinner. His hand trembled and his fork clicked loudly against the dish and he had to place it down on the table and grip tightly at his napkin with both hands. 

“Are you okay, Will?” 

He looked up at the psychiatrist, entirely aware of the fact that his face was hot and flushed, and Will himself was feeling hot, feverish, and more aroused than he probably should have been. 

“Fine,” he croaked out. His clothes felt tight and restrictive, and he undid the top button of his shirt with shaking fingers as Hannibal watched, smiling at him for some reason. “Is it warm in here?”

Hannibal shrugged and fingered his tie loosely. “Not particularly. I feel slightly chilled.”

Will groaned quietly and tried to concentrate on his food again, but the music built and built around him, and the more it did, the more uncontrollably turned on he became, the tighter his clothes felt and the more he was desperate to get them off, so desperate that he almost ripped the fabric of his shirt in his efforts to get it off. 

“Will,” Hannibal murmured, and Will looked up at him suddenly, flushed and slightly glassy eyed. 

“I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter, I don't know what's come over me,” he babbled in response, pulling his undershirt off over his head, aware that this was most definitely not proper etiquette but also not caring in the slightest. “I'm just – I'm so hot all of a sudden, please forgive me.”

“It's quite alright, dear Will.” 

A hot jolt lanced through him, and Will moaned, unable to bite the sound down. He looked over at Hannibal and realised the doctor was watching him carefully, and realised belatedly that he was running the fingers of one of his hands over his nipples and gripping tight to the table with the other in an attempt to not shove it down his pants and jerk off right there and then. The music crescendoed beautifully, and Will whined pitifully, grinding his open palm down on his hard, still distressingly covered cock.

He took a few deep, shaky breaths, whining a little under his breath as he pinched one of his nipples and scrabbled at his belt, his fingers almost shaking to hard for him to get a grip on the buckle. 

“Will?” 

His trembling fingers worked his belt loose and popped the button open, and he worked his hand down into boxer-briefs and finally wrapped his fingers around his cock, wet and dripping already in his pants. 

He worked up a smooth, slow rhythm, and Hannibal smirks at him, self-satisfied and impressed with his own work. 

“Are you okay? Can I help with anything?”

Will keened pathetically at the sound of Hannibal's voice, jerking himself off a little more rapidly. 

“I- I'm fine,” he panted, his body feeling hotter than ever. 

“Are you sure?” 

Will stood quickly, almost unable to wrench his hand away from his cock, and pushed his pants and boxers off quickly, toeing off his socks before collapsing back into his chair and resuming where he'd left off. 

After a few minutes, no matter how he stroked himself he wasn't getting any closer to a release, and his skin was crawling with arousal and desperation. 

“Please,” he croaked, gazing at Hannibal blearily across the table, his hand still working feverishly. “Please?”

Hannibal swirled the remains of his wine in the bottom of his glass and gazed across at him. “Please what? You still haven't told me what you need.”

“Please help me,” Will pleaded, a dry, desperate sob bubbling up out of his chest. “Please, just touch me?”

Hannibal sighed like he was dreadfully inconvenienced by Will's apparent inability to stop masturbating. “Come round here,” he told Will, who all but scrambled around the table to Hannibal's side. “Sit up on the table.”

He scrabbled up onto the table like an obedient dog and sat in front of Hannibal, desperate to touch himself again but waiting for instruction from the psychiatrist. 

“Lean back,” Hannibal told him, and wrapped his long, slender fingers around his thrall's cock firmly and began to work his hand up and down much slower than Will had been moving his hand earlier. “What got you so fired up? What was it that turned you on so badly that you felt you have to desecrate my dining room?”

Will didn't answer, but instead moaned and let his head drop back, leaning across the table on his elbows. 

“Was it the food?” Will shook his head, and Hannibal slowed his hand almost to a stop. “Was it the music?” Will all but shoved his fist into his mouth to hold back a cry. “Was it me?” Will came with a sharp shout, and barely heard Hannibal dropping him down into a trance, barely felt his head thud hard against the table as he slipped down into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia Du Maurier pays a visit to observe Hannibal's work.

The blonde woman was calm and composed, and Will was terrified of her. He had no idea why, except that she eyed him with the lazy surety of a lioness watching the sickly gazelle she knew she was going to pick off and eat later on. He lingered by the book case as she rose from the sofa to stalk towards him. 

“Will,” Hannibal said, jolting him out of his daydream of the woman pulling his ribs apart and licking them clean. “This is Bedelia Du Maurier. My therapist?”

Will's eyebrows rose. “Your therapist? I didn't know you were in therapy.”

“I feel it's a good idea.”

“As do I,” Bedelia purred, offering Will her hand to shake, which he did, unable to bring himself to make eye contact with him. “I've heard a lot about you, Will Graham. Hannibal's been telling me what an excellent subject you make.”

“Subject?” He rounded on Hannibal, narrowing his eyes at the therapist. “Have you been studying me?”

Hannibal and Bedelia both chuckled, low, dulcet sounds that caught Will off guard. 

“Not a subject in that sense, although I can see why he would want to study you,” Bedelia murmured. “A hypnotic subject.”

Will frowned again. “What?” Bedelia's eyes widened, and she looked impressed.

“Post-hypnotic suggestion?” she asked Hannibal, whose lips were quirked upwards slightly at the corners. 

“Little more than a nudge in the right direction. I merely said that it wasn't necessary to remember if he didn't feel like it, and he has no recollection of anything that happened.”

Bedelia turned on Will again, her eyes round and bright. “Fascinating.” Now he felt like Bedelia was a cat, and he was a cornered field mouse, and she was bored and wanted to play. 

“What are you talking about? I'm standing right here,” Will growled, and Hannibal and Bedelia exchanged another glance. 

“Fascinating,” Bedelia repeated, and walked closer to Will. “What sorts of inductions have you tried?” She wasn't speaking to him, but to Hannibal, who was lingering by the window. 

“He takes well to indirect induction, as well as fixation induction and progressive relaxation. I've not tried rapid induction yet but I'm sure he'd excel at that too.”

“What are you talking about? I don't understand, what's going on?”

“It's okay, Will,” Bedelia murmured, reaching up her neckline and pulling off her necklace, a thin silver chain with a large, multi-faceted stone, light purple and transparent, that caught the light and split it beautifully. 

“Just tell me,” Will growled, glaring at Bedelia. She passed the purple jewel in front of his face and his eyes caught and tracked it for a few seconds before he blinked and went back to looking at the therapist. “What are you talking...talking about?” The jewel caught his eye again, and Will tracked its smooth, gentle arch, unable to take his eyes off of it suddenly. It was pretty, and the light fragmented and filled his field of vision for short moments as it turned lightly on the chain. 

“What a good boy,” Bedelia purred, and Will nodded absently. “Did you condition him to be this responsive.”

“No,” Hannibal said, stepping into Will's peripheral vision. “He's just an excellent subject. Although I did condition him to have a physical response to certain types of classical music.”

“What sort of physical response?” 

The jewel was so pretty. 

“Arousal. Would you like to see?”

“I'd love to.”

The jewel moved, and Will followed it helplessly. He didn't even know what it was about it but the jewel was entrancing, and the flashes of light that danced across his field of vision and pushed all the other thoughts out of his head. 

“What shall we listen to?” That was Hannibal, but his words were largely irrelevant. “Some Vivaldi?”

Bedelia laughed, a low sound, and the crystal wobbled slightly in its most recent arc, but Will still couldn't take his eyes off of it. It was all he could see, now, and he wasn't sure if he could look away if he tried. Instead, he just sighed and let someone take his hand and thread a chain between his fingers. 

 

 

“Vivaldi is overrated, Hannibal. You know that.” Bedelia wound the thin chain between Will's fingers and set it swinging in a gentle arch, delighting in the way that Will's eyes followed it without hesitation, dazed and glassy after just a few minutes of tracking it carefully, sleepily. “Do you have any Paganini?”

“Ah, an excellent decision.” Hannibal cued up a record, and he and Bedelia settled down on the sofa opposite where Will had sat down, his legs having given out after a few moments of staring at the crystal. 

The music that filled the room suddenly was intense, fast, and had an immediate effect on the younger man. His face flushed and his eyes fluttered shut briefly, and he bit back a moan. 

“That was fast,” Bedelia murmured to herself, and beside her, Hannibal chuckled. 

“He took to it very quickly, he's an excellent subject, like I said.” 

Will was still watching the jewel closely, but his breathing was coming quicker and harder, and he was running his fingers anxiously over his belt. He had an incredibly obvious erection, but aside from his fingers twitching absently over his belt buckle he was making no moves to touch himself. 

“May I?” Bedelia asked, and Hannibal nodded briefly. 

“Of course. Be my guest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short one - more to follow soon, I hope!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will ponders the happenings of the last few days. or is it weeks? Or is it months?
> 
> Anything in brackets is Hannibal interjecting.

I'm not entirely sure I can tell the difference between dreams and reality anymore, but these are the things I know for sure: My name is Will Graham. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. (No, he's not.) And it's 8.45 pm. I don't know what the date is, I seem to have lost track. But I'm pretty certain it's a Saturday, because I'm not at work. (It's Tuesday February 17th, but I'm not surprised that Will is not aware of this.)

I'm not sure what Hannibal has been doing to me, but I'm going to try and organise my thoughts here. I remember going to his office for a session some time in January, and he suggested hypnotherapy. I remember him talking me down, and I remember wanting to fall asleep so badly I would do just about anything. I remember waking up and falling down, into what I've since identified as a trance state, over and over again, coming to love the sensation more and more each time. Even now I would do just about anything Hannibal told me just to get him to put me to sleep, I need it, I crave it. 

God, just thinking about it makes me want to go to sleep. No, I don't just want to go to sleep – I want to go to sleep for Hannibal, let him take me down at his pace, not mine, let him make me beg for it – oh god I just want to do what he tells me so he can let me go to sleep god I want to go to sleep please please please, Hannibal, I'll do anything you want just please - 

No, I need to stay awake. I need to focus on this for a little longer. (He's trying to hard, isn't he? He's not going to last much longer, I don't think.)

I don't remember much from a lot of the following sessions with Hannibal, between that first session and my most recent one. I mostly just remember sitting down in my chair – I've come to associate it, or perhaps been led to associate it, with relaxing and letting go – and then waking up refreshed, revitalised, with a blank spot in my memories from the past few hours that I don't want to question. I remember dreams – are they dreams? Or did they really happen and I was just made to think they were dreams? Dreams where I climb into Hannibal's lap and kiss him, where little by little I fall in love with Hannibal a little more, where I let him touch me and seduce me and fuck me and I love it so much I don't want to ever leave him, I love Hannibal so much I can't imagine being apart from him, please just do whatever you want with me just don't ever make me leave you please.

Concentrate. I've got to concentrate. 

I remember craving sex for the first time ever – it's not that I've not wanted sex in the past, but its always been something that I've been able to push to the back of my mind. This, though, was not something I could just ignore. I wanted Hannibal's eyes and hands on me, all over me, I wanted him to debase me, to use me. I wanted him to work me open and rut me until he was satisfied, until I was too fucked out to move. 

Something I remember clearly, hazy like I was dreaming but far too vivid even for my imagination, was straddling Hannibal, safe and comfortable in his lap, so fucking turned on that the only thing I was capable of doing was working myself open with one hand awkwardly, unable to break eye contact, lowering myself onto his cock until I can't speak, can't think. He held my hips gently, more as a guide than anything, not pushing me to do anything, but I couldn't stop myself from raising myself up and pushing back down onto him, rolling my hips and grasping at his shoulders to keep myself upright, to make sure I could still look Hannibal in the eye, I don't why I needed to but I had to, just had to keep looking him at him. 

(He did so well that day, rode me for hours while I poured new ideas into his head and he accepted them gratefully, only coming when I told him he could, after he had repeated the phrases I told him to.)

I'm not sure if this actually happened. I hope it did. 

I wonder if Bedelia Du Maurier is real too. I remember her as being tall, elegant, with a beautiful swirl of neat blonde hair, a low, smooth voice that sent chills down my spine. I remember a multi-faceted purple jewel better than I remember her face, just thinking about it makes me want to close my eyes and do as I'm told, makes me want to be a good boy, such a good boy for whoever takes control of me. 

Sorry. 

Bedelia's stone was perfect, eye-catching, mesmerising, and I could look at it for hours. I'm not sure what I did while I was watching it but I felt so good, so relaxed and happy for once, and there might have been someone touching me or I might have been imagining the hands on me, in my hair, on my chest, the fingers around my cock. 

I remember the swells of classical music, the build of strings on top of each other, the low murmur of the brass instruments. For some reason, it stirred something within me, something primal and uncontrollable, that rose and fell with the music. It's disturbing and amazing how the merest suggestion of the sort of music that Hannibal has playing as background music in his house turns me on like nothing else. I have vivid recollections of kneeling on the floor in Hannibal's lounge; I can still remember the hard, cold wood beneath my knees, the beautiful aria ringing through my head. I remember being told to touch myself, and eventually I couldn't have stopped myself if I'd tried. I was never really too interested in masturbation, it never really appealed to me, if that's the right word, but this was intoxicating – I remember not being able to stop, gasping for air as Hannibal put something around my neck, maybe a collar, maybe his hand, and I begged, oh God I begged him to touch me, I sounded pitiful. 

Classical music will never be the same to me again – it's gone from something that I enjoy listening to to something that turns me on so hard and fast I can barely breathe, can barely think about anything but jerking off until I pass out. 

Right. 

I'm going to Hannibal's. 

(That's about enough of that, then. Take a seat and we can begin, Will.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time - a little bit of lady loving, more sex, and, of course, more mind fuckery :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly gets involved. Mostly because she can, but also because Will gives *great* head.

“I'm quite impressed,” Beverly laughed as Will dropped down into his seat, his eyes all but slamming shut as Hannibal spoke his trigger and sent him drifting down into a light. “You've got him quite well trained – how long have you been doing this?” 

Hannibal hummed and stroked Will's hair. “About a month, but every single day. Sometimes more than once a day if he wanted it. What floor are you on, Will?” When he didn't make any effort to open his eyes, Hannibal stepped closer, hovering right beside his ear. “Open your eyes and tell me what floor you're on, Will. Now.”

The FBI consultant moaned and wrenched his eyes open a little to gaze absently at the ceiling, whining pitifully. “I'm so tired, just let me sleep,” he whispered. “Please, please, please.”

Beverly laughed and Hannibal chuckled with her. “Tell me what floor you're on, Will, and I'll let you sleep a little bit.”

“One – one hundred and ten.” He sounded pitiful, and his eyelids were fluttering uncontrollably as he struggled to keep his eyes open a little longer. 

“Good, good boy. Now, step in the lift and push the button for the ground floor. Don't forget to count each floor as you go past it, sinking deeper and deeper as you say each number. Once you reach the ground floor you can go to sleep.” 

The noise Will made was utterly pathetic, but he obeyed anyway, counting down slowly, almost crying with the effort of staying awake.

“He started out on the 30th floor, but the deeper he wants to go the higher up he starts so he can put himself down further and further.” 

Beverly murmured in appreciation. “I've never worked on someone long term like that. It's impressive how well trained you've got him. That physical response he has to classical music is just,” she said, and then paused before giving a low whistle. “Impressive.”

Hannibal nodded, smirking. 

“Ninety...ninety five?” Will said from his spot on the sofa. He was sobbing in between numbers, the muscles of his face trembling with the effort of keeping his eyes open properly. 

“Can I try something with him?” Beverly asked, and Hannibal nodded. “Will he listen to me?”

“He's so suggestible right now he'd do what an informercial tells him. Just address him directly and he'll listen to your every word.”

Beverly settled down next to him and leaned in close. “Hi Will,” she purred into his ear. “You're doing so well, such a good boy.” She stroked his hair, and he leaned in close to her touch. “Do you want to go to sleep soon?”

The resulting moan was desperate, and Will nodded feverishly, still counting down incredibly slowly. “Eighty-nine.”

“If you want to go to sleep a bit quicker, all you have to do is what I tell you. Understand?” Another nod and a strangled sob. 

“Yes, yes please, yes, anything,” he whined. 

“Good boy. You're a nice, obedient boy for me, and for Hannibal and Bedelia, aren't you? But you could always be a better boy for all of us, couldn't you?” The resulting moan was less pathetic, a little thicker and headier than before as he rolled his hips up into empty air. “Whenever you see a number for the next floor down, you're going to say 'I obey' instead of the number, and every time you say it it becomes more true, a bigger part of you personality, and every time you say it you'll notice that the numbers are going by faster and faster until you reach the ground floor.” Will murmured one more number before it became a slow, murmured litany of “I obey” that filled the room softly. 

“Nice trick,” Hannibal murmured. “Is it effective?”

Beverly laughed. “You'll see soon enough.” After a few minutes of sitting listening to Will say the same phrase over and over again, he sighed and let his eyes slip shut, and Beverly grinned. “How do you feel, Will?”

“Oh – obedient,” Will murmured, rolling onto his side on the sofa, his head coming to rest in Beverly's lap. 

“You're such a good boy, aren't you?” she murmured, petting his hair. “I have a favour to ask of you, Will.”

“Anything,” he whined, pressing his face up into her flat belly. “Anything, Beverly, anything.”

“You know Dr Chilton, don't you?” A nod. “I want you to kill Dr Chilton for me.”

“Okay.”

“Take a knife and bury it in his gut, understand?” Another nod. “Gut him like a fish, Will,” she hissed. 

Will rolled off of her lap and sat up unsteadily, his eyes still shut. “I'll need a knife.”

Beverly sat back, and Hannibal laughed. “Excellent work.”

"You don’t actually expect him to kill the good doctor do you?" Hannibal asked as Will slumped back onto the sofa after Beverly pushed lightly at his forehead.

"Of course not," she scoffed, and leaned back in close to Will. “Forget all about that, Will. Forget all about Dr Chilton for a moment and listen very carefully. Have you ever eaten a woman out before?"

There was a tentative nod, but no other movement from the man.

"Good, what was it like? So easy to tell me what it was like, Will, so easy to find the words to describe it."

"Hot. Wet. Her legs squashed my head."

Beverly snickered. “Did you like it?" A brief, tentative nod was her answer. “Good boy. I’m going to let you in on a little secret I don’t tell too many people. Are you listening?" Will leaned in close and Beverly smirked at Hannibal before whispering in Will’s ear, “I’ve got a magic cunt." While Hannibal chuckled from the chair opposite, Will somehow looked genuinely amazed at this news.

"Magic? Like how?"

"It’s addictive. Anybody who so much as gets a look at it, or even smells it, wants to get their mouth on it. It’s so magic that the second you do get to touch it, it’s like someone’s touching you. Every lick on my magic cunt is like a hot, wet tongue licking its way up to the tip of your cock and back down again. Magic like now that I’ve told you about it you’re already hard and I bet you can’t decide if you want to fuck me or eat me out, can you?"

"No, I - Beverly please," he whined. He was, as she had said, already hard and aching and desperate to touch her.

"Please what? What do you want, Will?" she cooed in his ear, before standing to unbutton and step out of her pants.

"Oh God, Bev - Beverly please, I need to see it, please let me see it."

Beverly sat back down, a pair of nondescript black panties all she wore from the waist down.

"If you see it, you’ll never be able to forget it, Will. You’ll go mad wanting me to ride your face until one of us passes out, wanting to bury your tongue in me as far as it will go. Are you sure you want that?"

Will nodded furiously. “Please, please let me, I just want - I want it so bad, Beverly, oh god I want to

Sighing like it was a massive imposition, Beverly said, “fine. I’ll let you. Open your eyes when I snap my fingers, and you’ll find you feel like you’re awake and aware, still relaxed and at ease and ready to come back here whenever I say so."

"Okay, okay," Will whined, fidgeting and desperate. There was a snap of fingers and his eyes opened, blearily at first against the light of the room after having his eyes closed for so long, but quickly more and more focused as he turned to look at Beverly where she sat next to him, his eyes immediately making a beeline for her crotch.

Beverly spread her legs a little, angling her hips so as if Will did drop to the floor in front of her like she wanted, he’d be able to get as close as he wanted.

Will swallowed convulsively, his throat clicking drily as he just stared and stared at Beverly’s - his coworker’s - fabric covered cunt, his voice deserting him as he slid off the sofa and looked up beseechingly for permission. Beverly said nothing, and after a moment Will’s nostrils flared as he caught the unmistakeable scent of her, no doubt wet and hot under the black panties, and he knew he must have looked like an idiot, kneeling at her feet, lips slightly parted, drooling, literally drooling, as he edged closer and closer, desperate to breath in a little more of her. He was simply unable to keep from pressing his nose up against her, the fabric almost coarse enough to be uncomfortable, and he moaned, pathetically and broke lay as the scent of her, the indescribably sweet, intoxicating smell of her filled him up. He wasn’t even aware at first that he was hard, suddenly, as he pressed his tongue against the fabric and just about tasted Beverly through it.

“Oh no,” she trilled, her thighs quivering slightly as Will pressed his face more fully up against her, trying desperately to work his tongue through the fabric somehow. “That's it, isn't it? You're never going to be able enough of it, will you?” He didn't even seem to be listening, his mouth pressed hard up against her sopping wet panties, moaning loudly as he tried to push his tongue inside of her in spite of the thin barrier. “Oh god,” she whined. “Such a good boy, so good, but don't you want to taste it?” 

There was a brief moment of hesitation, before Will carried on lapping and nipping at the panties. 

“When you finally taste it, finally, properly get your tongue on me, you're going to come, aren't you?” Another broken moan. “You're going to come in your pants like a horny teenager, because of the taste of my magic cunt. Aren't you?”

“Oh god, yes,” he said – or at least she thought he did. 

She reached down and nudged him backwards so as she could pull her panties off, but she wasn't able to move him away far enough to wriggle them off properly, so she simply pulled them out of the way as best she could, and he was back on her in a second, not at all tentative as he buried his tongue as far inside of her as he could, and moaned and shuddered against her as he came.


End file.
